Janis Butler Holm

By Janis Butler HolmLos Angeles, California, USA He has stepped from a dark waiting place. He has moved toward her body with the crude insistence of a bad plot. Her mind is stopped. She is fixed in the wisdom of stories learned too well: Be calm. It is inevitable. Do not struggle. He will only hurt you more. For one long moment she stands mute, without motion. She could die of suspense. Then (here's the reversal) her pen is in her hand and stabbing through his flesh. Unhappy ever after, she will live to confess how the fury in her…

By Janis Butler HolmLos Angeles, California, USA He sees how the lettuceslides around the plate,yellow and cunning,mysterious in its ways. He notes that the friesare pointing southeast,that they are sharp and oiledand spattered with red. The tomato slices whispersoft pink obscenities,their harlot song callingto his lips, his tongue. He smells in his burgerthe black, smokey fleshof things small and tender.And he's back at My Lai. And he's up and running,he's running, and around him,the jungle, the colors,the chaos, the horror. He's running and stumblingand heaving and moaning.He's running, and he's thinkingthat he wants to go home. First published: Red River…